


without apology

by singlemalter



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: 2019 Formula 1 Season, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-09 11:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18637216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/pseuds/singlemalter
Summary: Max loves his mum, he really does, but he’ll go mad if she asks who’ll be his plus one for Victoria’s wedding once again.Alternatively: Max Verstappen would very much enjoy seeing Daniel Ricciardo in a fancy tux, he just doesn’t know it yet.





	1. we’re doomed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [extremesoft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremesoft/gifts).



> This is, first and foremost, for my lovely nerd.

He’s happy for them. Overjoyed, even. 

Max doesn’t think he’d be able to get that attached to a person in six months, but his sister’s engagement isn’t a surprise to anyone who sees the way they look at each other, so full of fondness and genuine desire to build a life together.

They’ll have a private ceremony in Maastricht, halfway through the short stretch of time between Hungaroring and Spa, the date carefully picked out so Max has no excuse to weasel out of attending.

And he’s got to bring a plus one. 

* * *

The thing with Max is that he can’t keep relationships for shit. Sabre, Mikaela, Maxime, Dilara—they all fizzled out after months on and off. He reckons it’s a combination of his brashness and the hectic schedule of F1. Nothing wrong with that. He’s got bigger things on his mind.

Except his mum keeps asking who he’s bringing to the goddamn wedding, and he’s tired of deflecting.

“Honey, it’d just look off, wouldn’t it,” she says, voice infused with the unintentionally condescending tone he despises. “She’s younger than you, you can’t show up alone to her wedding day!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, wishing he could just send her off to the best spa in Baku and move on with his day. “Mama, I won’t be alone, okay?”

It isn’t until she breaks into a grin that Max realises the implications of what he’s said.

“ _Max_ ,” she croons, her hands firmly planted on his cheeks. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! What’s her name?”

“I mean, it’s not,” he starts, then cuts himself off. What can he say? Sorry, mama, I didn’t mean to trick you into believing you had a daughter-in-law?

“It’s not what?”

He stares at his shoes and prays a hole swallows him up. Is it even possible to let your mum down easy? Going for a stroll in a mine field would be easier than this.

Max sighs. “It’s not what you think, mum, I’m not bringing a girl.”

She frowns and her eyes go wide as saucers. “Max, I’m so sorry,” she says, and he has no idea what she’s apologising for. “I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m sorry, honey. You know I’ll love you always, no matter what.”

What? Max thinks. 

“What?” Max says.

“So what’s—his name? Max, I’m so excited to meet him, I promise I am so happy for you.”

God fucking dammit.

“Uh,” he stutters. He’s at the worst crossroads of his life: disappoint his mum immediately or in four months. He stupidly chooses the latter, mind scrambling for the first male name he can recall. “Um, his name is—Daniel?”

She cocks an eyebrow. “I see,” she smiles, gaze so sharp Max’s sure she can see right through him. Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything. “Well, honey, I’m looking forward to seeing you both soon.”

Max exhales. His mum gives him a quick kiss to the cheek and leaves, presumably to gossip with Victoria about Max’s nonexistent boyfriend.

So that’s a new thing in his ever-growing list of shit he has to fix.

* * *

Baku’s kind of boring, but then again, hasn’t everything been strangely dull since Daniel left?

* * *

Just when he thinks he’s survived the weekend relatively unscathed, Victoria swoops into his motorhome and stage whispers, “When were you planning to tell me?”

He deems playing dumb the best course of action. “Tell you what?”

“That you’re dating _another driver_!”

Max freezes. “What?”

The memory from earlier this morning comes back to him: telling his mum he was secretly dating someone called Daniel— _fuck_.

“Mama told me, you don’t have to lie,” Victoria says, genuinely earnest, and Max can’t do this. He really can’t. “I might give you a lot of shit, but I love you no matter what.”

“Vic, I... I don’t want to talk about it.”

She purses her lips. “Have it your way,” she sighs. “As long as you’re there, I don’t care if you bring Daniel or a fucking horse.”

When she closes the door behind her, Max buries his head in the stupid memory foam pillow and yells like he’s wanted to all day, frustration and anger burning in his throat. This kind of shit wouldn’t happen to anyone else.

* * *

Max stands in the corridor, knuckles hovering over the golden Ricciardo nameplate. It’s now or never, he thinks. Not like your relationship with him is the best, anyway. 

He knocks.

“J’arrive,” a voice calls out.

Ten seconds and a dozen hurried steps later, Daniel opens the door. “Uh—hi, Max. I thought you were the... pizza guy,” he gestures lamely. “What are you doing here? Not that I mind, it’s just, I had no idea you were even in Monaco.”

“We need to talk.”

“Wow, that sounds serious,” Daniel whistles. “D’you wanna come in?”

They sit on the floor, because Daniel’s sofa is almost invisible under a pile of boxes. The TV’s on, tuned into fucking Bloomberg of all channels, and a stack of signed Renault posters covers the coffee table. “Jesus Christ,” Max says. “Do you want my housekeeper’s number?”

“Nah, I’m just busy with team shit, you know how it is,” he says, and Max does. Daniel claps his hands. “Doesn’t matter. What do you need to talk to me about?”

“It’s complicated,” Max understates, since he doesn’t want to scare Daniel away twenty seconds into this conversation. “My sister got engaged—”

“Congratulations.”

“—and I had to take someone with me, and my mum kept asking and asking about it, it was so annoying,” he rambles. “And I might’ve told her I’d bring you?”

“I mean, mate, that’s a bit last minute, but sure.”

“Let me finish,” Max snaps. Daniel raises his hands in a placating gesture. “I—my mum might think we’re together? Like a couple?”

“What?” Daniel balks. “A couple? You told her we’re _dating_?”

“I didn’t tell her,” Max says, which doesn’t help his case that much. “She just assumed.”

“And you didn’t correct her.”

“I didn’t want to let her down,” Max murmurs. “She really wants me to bring a person.” 

Daniel rubs his eyelids until he sees pale little fireworks. “Right-oh. Holy balls, man, I don’t know what to tell you. I mean, even if we were still teammates, it’d be really weird, to be honest.”

Max’s cheeks burn crimson. He should’ve realised it was a stupid idea and canned it before embarrassing himself in front of someone he barely talks to anymore. Great.

“But,” Daniel continues, blissfully unaware of Max’s inner breakdown, “I guess I can do it. It’s not forever, so—what do you need me to do?”

* * *

“Baby, when will your Daniel come over? I’m excited to meet him,” his mum says over dessert.

Max flinches, mouth ajar and a pakhlava halfway raised to his lips. God, she has to stop dropping these bombshells out of nowhere. “Uh. Soon?”

“How soon is soon, honey?”

“I mean, I... he’s kind of busy right now,” he reasons; and never let it be said that Max Verstappen is not a family man, because the second she looks down, resigned, he amends, “but I can talk to him if you want!”

“Can you?” It’s almost scary, the way she brightens up instantly.

The answer is obvious: no, he can’t, yet he nods and lets his mum believe everything will be alright.

* * *

As soon as he’s alone, Max scrolls through his contact list and hesitates for a moment before swiping to call Daniel Ricciardo (Renault). It takes four rings for him to pick up. 

“D’you know what fucking time it is,” Daniel rasps.

“I know,” Max says. “Fuck, I need you to meet my mum.”

“What? Now?”

“Yes, now. I mean, not _now_ , but tomorrow or something,” Max hisses, a knot firmly lodged in his throat.

Daniel sighs, a loud crackle through the speakers. “Can you do Friday arvo? I’ve something tomorrow.”

Max lets out a relieved breath. “Yep. Thank you,” he says, uncharacteristically sincere. The words taste weird on his tongue, but he’s well aware Daniel deserves to hear them after putting up with Max’s shit for so damn long. It’s a wonder he hasn’t given up yet. 

“Gangster,” Daniel slurs. Then he hangs up. 


	2. we’re not

His mum’s so elated she extends her stay in Monaco by a full week.

“There’s a bar here at the hotel, you’re going to love it,” she tells him over the phone. “Honey, I just want you to know I’m so proud of you for being yourself. I know I’ve said this a thousand times, but...”

“It’s fine, mama,” Max groans. He regrets this more by the second—it’ll all go to shit once she finds out the truth, and he doesn’t want to deal with the fallout. 

“Your sister always said you had a thing for that boy,” she continues. “I never believed her, but looks like she was right all along!”

“ _What_?”

“Dear, don’t sound so surprised. Gossip travels fast. Victoria’s given me all the details on the two of you.” 

Max is going to kill his sister.

“Right,” he forces a laugh. “Um, I really have to go now? I’ll see you later. Love you, mama.”

He barely waits for the _call ended_ message to show up before he screams into his pillow—for the second time in two days. 

* * *

At two in the afternoon on an otherwise peaceful Friday, Daniel shows up in Max’s apartment with a spray of yellow roses and a tacky backpack slung over his right shoulder. He doesn’t wait for an invitation to jump onto Max’s sofa.

“Hi to you too, make yourself at home,” Max deadpans.

“How are ya,” Daniel says. “Damn, I almost forgot—these are for you. You know, now that we’re committed to each other.” 

Daniel hands him the bouquet so nonchalantly Max almost manages to forget they’re just playing pretend. Almost.

He gingerly raises the flowers to his face. They smell amazing, sweet but not sickeningly so, and he wonders how Daniel nailed his taste down. “Thank you,” he says, and funnily enough, he thinks he means it.

“D’you wanna head out?”

Max considers it for a while, then decides they’ve got time to spare, since the Fairmont is less than ten minutes away.

He heads into the kitchen to fill a jar with water, gently dips the flowers inside, and walks back to the living room. After considerable thought, he leaves the jar on the coffee table, near Daniel’s sprawled legs. 

“Nah,” Max shrugs, picking up the TV remote. “Do you want to watch something?”

“Fire it up,” Daniel says, and throws his arm over the back of the sofa, just low enough for his fingertips to brush against Max’s shoulder. The weird domesticity does something to Max’s heart: a strange step sequence, grand jeté into a billion pirouettes he can’t explain. 

* * *

When they arrive at the Fairmont, both his mum and Victoria are already waiting for them downstairs. 

“Hello there, hi,” Daniel says with a smile, polite as always.

“Daniel, it’s good to see you,” Victoria says, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Max isn’t particularly proud of the bitter feeling it stirs in his stomach. “I had something scheduled for today, so I’m sorry I can’t join you guys.” 

“Yeah nah, it’s alright,” Daniel waves dismissively. “I’m sure we’ll get the chance to talk soon enough.”

“I’m sure,” she echoes. She gives Max an awkward side hug before darting out of the hotel, presumably to meet up with Tom. 

“Oh, he’s handsome,” his mum sing-songs. Max elbows her as subtly as possible, but she goes on blatantly checking Daniel out like he’s a random guy in a nightclub, not her son’s (admittedly fake) boyfriend.

“So, miss Kumpen,” Daniel says, playfully bowing at the waist. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. By the starry-eyed look on her face, she’s already smitten. “Care to join us for tea?”

“Please, that’s Sophie for you.”

* * *

The Saphir 24 is comfortingly less posh than every other bistro in Monaco, which helps, since Max doesn’t think he could handle going somewhere fancy with these two. His mum orders a glass of Lampe de Méduse, Daniel has a Heineken, and Max gingerly sticks to his 7 Up, too uncomfortable by the idea of drinking in front of them. 

During the meal, they make unremarkable conversation: his mum retells shameful stories from Max’s childhood, Daniel makes fun of him, he subtly flips the bird at Daniel when his mum isn’t looking.

He and Daniel share a mille-feuille, much to his mum’s sadistic delight. It’s so good it should be outlawed, crunchy and creamy in all the right places, and he notices Daniel quirk an eyebrow at his indiscreet moans of pleasure.

Max wishes he didn’t embarrass himself in front of Daniel so often, especially considering that if he tries hard enough, this bizarre predicament feels strangely genuine.

As they chat away over a banquet of pastries, the sun slowly sets over the Mediterranean Sea, painting the Monégasque sky a sightly blend of orange-blue. Max is so ensnared by the view he nearly doesn’t perceive Daniel entwining their fingers, hands clasped together where his mum can see them.

The blatant display reminds him this is just for show, of course. None of it actually matters, not when Max is doing this for Victoria’s sake. 

“You boys are getting quite cosy,” his mum teases. She waves at their server and gestures for the check. Max’s cheeks burn at the implications of her gesture. 

The waiter slides a small leather presenter onto the table. Daniel politely wipes his mouth with an actual napkin—it’s the first time Max’s seen him do that in _three years_ —and covers the check with his free hand. Max balks.

“Oh, please,” his mum shakes her head, reaching for her wallet. “Daniel, you’re our guest.” 

Daniel gives her his best megawatt smile, and Max knows he’s won this battle. “I’ve got it,” he says, and folds a couple of bills into the card holder. He beckons the waiter back over. “Keep the change, yeah?”

His mum’s positively beguiled by him, and Max isn’t sure he blames her when she says, “You’re something else, Dan.” 

“Oh, Sophie,” he snorts, his eyes lit up with glee. “You’re way too nice to me.” 

* * *

“Max, honey, can you help me upstairs?”

“Sure,” he says. He follows her out of the lounge and into an elevator.

She swipes her keycard over the scanner and waits for the doors to close. “Wow,” she sighs, and Max has no idea what she means by that. “He really loves you, doesn’t he?”

No, he’s merely a damn stellar actor. I’m sorry, mum. “I hope so?”

She throws her head back and straight-up cackles, boisterous and happier than he’s ever seen her. “Max, if it looks like a cat, meows like a cat, and walks like a cat, it is a cat.”

Max doesn’t have a good response to that, and the conversation lulls to a stop. They walk silently to her en suite.

On the door, she kisses his cheek, decidedly tender. “See you, Max.” 

All his life, he’s never paid much attention to his mum’s romantic commentary; but her words stick with him even as he drives back home, alone in an Aston Martin too large for one.

If it looks like a cat, meows like a cat, and walks like a cat—it’s probably a terrible fake relationship plan, gone wrong in ways Max would rather bury in a corner of his mind and never consider. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yellow roses symbolise friendship/friendly love.
> 
> Tom is Victoria’s actual boyfriend, whom I have made to propose for the sake of Dan/Max fanfic. Sorry, Tom! Don’t feel pressured to pop the question so soon. 
> 
> Saphir 24 is the Fairmont Hotel’s 24/7 bar and bistro; in the afternoon, they have a “French tea-time party” with multiple pastries, including the mille-feuille.


	3. are you sure?

There’s a strange aura surrounding their every interaction. It probably isn’t noticeable to anyone except Ziggo Sport’s ravenous reporters and Max himself, but it speaks volumes that he’d rather be trapped in a long meeting with Helmut and Christian than risk running into Daniel on the way to his motorhome; he’d take death over facing the bizarre metaphorical cat curled on his lap. 

He sticks around until he’s essentially shoved out of the garage by the engineers, then heads back to get some sleep in. Because he’s Max Verstappen and life’s a fucking nightmare, he bumps into a person while slithering past the Renault campers.

“Max!” Daniel bellows, mood starkly different from Friday’s spacey daze. “Have you been _avoiding_ me?”

“No,” Max says, having avoided Daniel for as long as humanly possible during the past week. “I just didn’t see you around.”

“You sat right next to me on the Thursday briefing.”

“I didn’t see you,” Max repeats, half-furious, half-anxious. He really doesn’t want to continue this conversation. “I have to go to my motorhome.”

Max attempts to shuffle past him, but Daniel grabs his bicep and forces him to turn around again. It’s a terrible move; Max shuts his eyes and flinches, wrenching his arm out of Daniel’s grasp. “ _Don’t hold me like that!_ ”

Daniel staggers back. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Max averts his eyes, swallows his panic, painstakingly wills his breathing back to normal. He sees Daniel’s coach poke his head out of their shared motorhome, looking for the source of the noise. Daniel waves him away, turns to Max with sour pity in his eyes. 

“Mate, what the fuck,” he laughs nervously, brows furrowed in confusion. “Did I do anything? Is this about the date?”

“It’s nothing,” Max lies. It’s everything. “I just don’t feel good. Can I go now?”

“Yeah, this _is_ about the date. I don’t know what’s got into you, but you asked me to do this for you, and I’m not gonna—”

“Fuck, Daniel, you really don’t know, do you?” Max snaps, raw anger dripping from his words. He grabs the collar of Daniel’s racing suit, knuckles white from the pressure. His hands tremble against the fabric. “I didn’t mean for this to go so massively wrong! I didn’t plan this!”

“You didn’t plan _what_?” 

“I didn’t want to feel like this!” Max yells, and his clenched fists hit Daniel’s chest. Guilt sinks into his stomach when he sees Daniel’s completely still, arms limp even if it means he can’t defend himself.

He knows Daniel’s not moving because he doesn’t want to scare him, and Max feels horrible; he thinks he’s finally gone off the deep end and become a perfect reflection of his father, jagged edges and a predator’s cruel hands wounding his prey. 

“Sorry,” he sobs, slumping against Daniel’s shoulder. Salty tears burn his eyes, and he hangs his head like a condemned man in the gallows. “Fuck, Daniel. Vergeef me, vergeef me, vergeef me—fuck!”

Daniel finally moves, lifting his hand to card his fingers through Max’s hair, light enough for Max to be able to break free at any time. “Come on,” he says, as soft as he is when he coaxes Wilf out of a tantrum. “It’s alright, yeah? Let’s go inside.”

“I need to go to mine,” Max says weakly, hoarse from his outburst. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Daniel repeats. “I’ll talk to Christian if he asks, I’ll make something up.”

He tentatively wraps his arm around Max’s waist; Max doesn’t react as badly this time, and Daniel guides the two of them to the steps leading into the Renault-branded caravan. 

“Michael, can you go to Cyril’s? Just for tonight? Thank you. I’m sorry.”

* * *

It doesn’t end.

He falls for twenty minutes, twenty days, twenty years—he can’t tell. His head hurts from the constant drop, everything around him a blur. When he thinks he’s reached the end, he starts falling again, stuck in a loop until—

Max jolts awake. He’s momentarily disoriented, eyes struggling to find any source of light; he’s somewhere he shouldn’t be. He tentatively stretches his arm and hits a mop of hair. He feels the curls against his hand and freezes, fear and bile rising in his gullet. The body besides him stirs and clumsily slams the wall, flicking on the blinding lamp above them.

Max blinks in pain, shielding his face to avoid the visual whiplash. From between his fingers, he sees the tacky Australian flag pillow he’s drooled on and a very concerned Daniel staring at him. 

“You okay?” Daniel asks, voice rough.

“Yep,” Max groans. “Shit. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“She’ll be right, I’d probably wake up on my own anyway. Did you have a bad dream?”

“Something like that,” Max admits. “I... remember when I said in Monaco that I had strange dreams about falling?”

Daniel smiles, softer than he ever does for the cameras, and Max thanks the stars for the chance to witness this unguarded Daniel. “‘Course I do. I remember everything. Especially the things you tell me.” 

Max’s cheeks flush red. “Wow. That’s really cool. Um, I really should go back to sleep.” 

“I know something that might help.”

“Hmm?” Max shifts so he’s in a cosy position, hands tucked between his ear and the pillow. 

“My mum used to sing these lullabies when I couldn’t sleep,” Daniel says. “Close your eyes. Okay, good. Brace yourself, my voice’s really good. Fai la ninna, fai la nanna...”

* * *

His second time waking up is far more tranquil than the first, save for his phone’s vibrations inside his pocket. He grudgingly fishes it out and squints to read: five missed calls from Christian Horner (Red Bull). Fuck.

Daniel comes out of the shower, already in his hideous tattered jeans and team jacket. “Look if it isn’t sleeping beauty, awake at last,” he sings, wringing stray water droplets out of his hair. “How are you?”

Max shrugs. “Good, but Christian’s looking for me.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Daniel offers, nonchalantly dropping a towel on the floor. 

“No, it’s fine. I got it,” Max says. And it truly is fine: he feels uncannily refreshed, ready to take on his boss and everyone else in the goddamn world if he must; maybe it’s a side effect of seeing Daniel with his guard down. (It definitely is that.) 

Daniel sits next to him on the mattress, head tilted so they’re breaching each other’s personal space. It’s terrifying. “Is your mum here, by the way? Mine is, so. I dunno, maybe we could set up a mum hangout, go out with them.”

“Yeah, she’s with Victoria,” Max concedes. “But I... I don’t know. Do you want to keep doing all of it?”

“The dating thing?” Daniel wiggles his eyebrows. It looks so ridiculous up close it draws a snort out of Max. “You know I don’t mind, as long as we know it’s not real. We’re just... playing pretend.”

Max nods slowly. The words make his heart plunge, but the way Daniel’s looking straight into his eyes, so few inches between them... “Just pretend. Okay, good.”

Daniel chuckles, wetting his lower lip with a swipe of his tongue. “Okay, I don’t think either of us believes that,” he says, and leans impossibly closer so his nose comfortably bumps against Max’s cheek. “Do we?”

“No,” Max says, and lets Daniel kiss the breath out of his lungs.

Daniel kisses like a hummingbird, putting all his weight into it; he gives Max’s lips short little pecks, bringing out all the honey Max never knew he had in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Because he’s Max Verstappen and life is a fucking nightmare_ should be read exactly as in John Mulaney’s Delta Airlines skit.
> 
> Avoiding sudden, especially trapping/overwhelming physical touch is a (potentially lifelong) consequence of physical abuse.
> 
>  _Vergeef me_ is Dutch for exactly what it sounds like (forgive me).
> 
> Wilf is Dan’s godson. He’s a very cute toddler.
> 
> Max talks about his falling nightmares in the Monaco edition of _On The Sofa_.
> 
> Dan does own a pillow with the Australian flag on it; you can see it in any videos filmed in his former Red Bull room. 
> 
> “Fai la ninna, fai la nanna, piccolino della mamma” is apparently a common nursery rhyme in Southern Italy, where Grace Ricciardo’s parents are from.

**Author's Note:**

> “What can you learn from your opponent? More than you think. Who will master this love? Love might be the wrong word. Let’s admit, _without apology_ , what we do to each other.” _Detail of the Fire_ , Richard Siken.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr at singlemalter if you fancy that—I love making friends.


End file.
